Before the Fall
by TheRandomScribbler
Summary: Legolas, believing that breach in the wall at Helms Deep and the lives lost because of it to be his fault, takes drastic action against himself. Can Aragorn help him realize it's not his fault before it's too late? Ch. 4 revised.
1. Guilt

**Summary: Legolas, believing the deaths of Haldir, the other Elves, and the lives lost because of the breach in the wall to be his fault, takes drastic action against himself. Can Aragorn help him realize it's not his fault before it's too late?**

**Yuck, yuck, yuck. Anyway, you know the routine—PJ, NLC etc. owns all. If you sue me you'll get…um…(counts pocket change)…a quarter. Oh, wait. That's not even money. It's a game token. Is it really worth it?**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Genre: Angst. There is NO SLASH.**

**Chapter 1—Guilt**

Legolas, son of Thranduil, of the royal line of Mirkwood and heir to its throne, sat gazing down over the fallen dead standing on one of the highest place of what remained of the mountain behind Helms Deep. The afternoon sky was just beginning to pale in its time, the sun was just barely starting to show signs of receding over the hills.

He offered a glance to the great breach in the wall which had caused many deaths both in the act of blowing up and in allowing to come through what it did.

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he recalled the previous night's—nay, also the early morning's—events. As he thought of the great explosion along the wall which had sent many an Elf and man to their deaths, the great chunks of solid stone which struck the unfortunate, the creatures which the breach permitted entry to, which killed innumerable more, the force of the explosion itself.

He had stared helplessly at the body of Haldir, his lifelong friend and ally, just after the battle. He remembered numbly kneeling to close the Elf's open eyes, remembered the haunted, shocked expression there as he knew Haldir must have only just realized the evils and pains of death as he died. He would never forget hearing Aragorn cry above the tumultuous noise of battle, "_Haldir! Haldir! No!"_

He saw his friend fall. He shot arrows in the direction but they never made it three yards past where the Elf was standing; the mass of orcs had been too great. Aragorn had been with Haldir when he'd died. He'd tried to talk with Legolas about his death, about the death of all the Elves, afterwards, but Legolas wouldn't listen. He didn't want to talk.

"What would you understand of the deaths of immortals? You are only a mortal yourself, son of Arathorn. What would you know?" he had snapped angrily before turning his back away and storming off. He knew he probably shouldn't have snapped at his friend, but Aragorn would have to understand there were some thing he just would not understand. There were some differences between Elves and mortals. Between Aragorn and Legolas.

No matter. Aragorn would understand his outburst later. They were friends.

_Just like your little fiasco earlier?_ A little voice taunted. _Telling him his kinsmen were all going to die—very nice way of expressing friendship._

_Shut up_, Legolas snapped irritably, _we were reconciled later. _He became even more irritable as he realized he was talking to himself.

So he'd climbed to the highest point he could find, here high above the scene of the battle. Of death. He had ignored Gimli's mutterings of "Crazy, stupid Elf," ignored Aragorn as he tried to get Legolas to join the men in their celebration of the orcs' defeat, and instead went to be alone, all alone on a jagged cliff of rock twenty feet above the highest wall of Helms Deep.

To think.

It was his fault. He knew that. He was sure of it.

"I could have stopped it," he said softly. A breeze rippled gently, tossing his hair lightly about his face.

He could have shot that one orc. He could have. He'd shot and killed countless others. Why not this one? It would have taken two seconds to fire. He had hesitated. And because of that, the wall blew up and hundreds were killed.

"It's all my fault," he whispered. "I should have taken him down. I did not."

The bodies of the dead lay strewn across the now-blood-stained fields and plains. Huge chunks of rock were still scattered about. Beneath them were even more dead bodies. And all were Legolas's fault. He had the blood of hundreds on his hands. Hundreds.

Most of the dead had had families. Wives, children, babies. Mothers had lost their sons. Wives had lost their husbands. Some had lost both. And the other children…little boys and girls had lost older siblings. He had seen the terrible grief and anguish on the faces of the little ones who had suddenly discovered their beloved brothers and fathers would never return. Many of them would not have had to suffer their losses if it were not for the Elf prince whom many called great.

He had passed through their midst with Aragorn and Gimli, and many had called out to them.

"Thank you for saving us," one would call, while another would say, "We would be dead if it were not for you and the others."

He would give a quiet smile but their praise only made the lack thereof others worse. There were those who would look at him with grief-stricken eyes, and though they would nod with their comrades' words of thanks, they would offer none themselves and Legolas knew these were the ones who no longer had loved ones living among them.

His heart cried out silently for them, but he could do nothing. He had seen friends fall in combat, he'd watched his father become fatally wounded, had seen his brother lie unconscious for days. Valar, one of his brothers had _died _in an attack on Mirkwood. These people, however, were not the warrior that he was. He could deal with things they could not. He had seen grief like they had never imagined. But their pain could have been spared. Their loved ones did not need to have died.

And the worst part of it was that it was his fault. All Legolas's fault. A huge amount of guilt welled up in his chest. He felt sick. He wished he had never been born. It would have been better for the world that way. All those Men…all the Elves…his kinsmen, and Aragorn's…all dead. Because of Legolas. Because the renowned archer-prince of Mirkwood who was known throughout Middle-Earth for his immense skills with a bow could not bring down his target when the need was greatest.

Legolas clenched his long-fingered hands into tight fists, the nails digging so deep into his flesh that it drew blood. It didn't matter. All that mattered was his terrible, terrible crime. He wished he could compensate for their lives. He couldn't. Or could he?

Slowly Legolas brought his open palm to rest upon the rough, jagged rock of the cliff. It was sharp, sharp enough to cut skin. He suddenly brought his hand crashing downwards, running it along the sharp ragged rock. He crashed to his knees, the hand bleeding freely from cuts all along his fingers and palm. He stood and did it to the other hand. Blood stained his tunic, but he didn't care. He stayed on his knees for a few minutes this time, feeling his pain, letting the tears that now flowed mingle with the blood.

He stood up, looked over the edge of the cliff, down, down, down. It was a long way down. He drew a deep breath. It was the only way.

He jumped.

_D_

Aragorn saw the figure in mid-fall. He hadn't any idea how far up he'd been when he fell, just knew that he fell. Breaking into a run, he sprinted towards where the person had fallen.

But by the time he'd gotten there, whoever it had been was already gone. The only thing there was blood. The blood made Aragorn's eyes narrow. It was deep crimson blood. Like the blood of an Elf.

He lurched to his feet and began to run with all his might towards Legolas's sleeping quarters.

_D_

No man could have survived the fall. None. Not even Aragorn. But Legolas was no man. Though the appearance of his light Elven body would seem to contradict the possibility, it was strong and durable, able to withstand many things a mortal could not. And falling twenty feet onto a hard stone wall and breaking merely an ankle was one of them.

For a minute Legolas just lay there, stunned. It hadn't worked. He'd tried to kill himself and it hadn't worked. He'd just thrown himself off of a rocky cliff and gotten away with a broken ankle and a lot of bruises. Oh, well. No matter.

He got up determinedly and made his way, limping, back to his chambers. He was very careful to avoid to most commonly used ways and managed not to be seen. Once in his room he went to the window and looked out. He could just barely see the crag in the mountain where he'd been standing only minutes before. The crag that overlooked the men that had died. The men he had killed.

It didn't matter. In a few minutes he'd be able to make a personal apology to every single one of them.

He drew one of his long Elven knives and made careful slits along the pale skin of his left wrist so they bled profusely. Then he placed the tip of the knife to his chest, where he could feel the beating of his heart, and prepared to drive the blade right through.

_D_

Aragorn didn't know why he thought this had to do with Legolas. The last thing the Elf would do was fall of a cliff. The only drop of evidence he had was the blood, which he possibly could have mistaken for a Man's.

He raced the entire way to Legolas's room, and flung the door open, where a sight more horrendous than any battle he'd seen greeted his eyes.

Legolas stood near the window. The shades covered it so that no light escaped. He was covered in blood and holding a long knife, already gleaming red with blood right to his own heart. The blood was obviously his own, and the Elven knife had apparently been used by the Elf to hurt himself.

"_Legolas! What do you think you're doing?" _Aragorn screamed.Before he really knew what he was doing he had hurtled forward and tackled Legolas onto the floor, wrenching the knife from his cold-fingered grasp and sending it flying across the room.

Legolas struggled violently against Aragorn, trying to regain some control. He actually managed to seize his other knife from its scabbard before Aragorn knocked it from his hand.

"Let me go," Legolas snarled, struggling for all he was worth. But Aragorn had always been the larger and stronger of the two, and Legolas's fall had weakened him considerably. In less than a minute Aragorn had flipped Legolas onto his stomach, had straddled the fighting Elf and was holding his arms firmly behind his back, pinning him to the floor.

"Let—me—go," Legolas panted, the strain from the struggle showing in his face and voice.

Aragorn ignored the demand and instead questioned, keeping his voice as calm and even as he could, "What were you doing, Legolas?"

Legolas stopped his thrashing for a moment to smile sardonically, a bitter and angry look gracing his fine Elven features. "Wasn't it obvious?"

"You were trying to kill yourself," Aragorn stated, fighting to keep the extreme worry and panic he felt at saying these words out of his voice.

"Yes," Legolas said defiantly, still trying valiantly to free himself. "Now get off me."

"I will not," said Aragorn softly.

"How dare you," seethed the Elf. "I _order _you, as the prince of Mirkwood to let me go!"

"And I," Aragorn said quietly. "As the rightful king of Gondor order you to remain where you are. I do not take orders from suicidal friends. Stop struggling, Legolas; you cannot win and you will only fatigue yourself."

His words only incensed the Elf further. After a few minutes, however, when it became clear that he could not wrench himself free from Aragorn's vise-like grip, Legolas gave in and stopped twisting and turning.

"Let me go, Aragorn," he said in a small voice. "I've done as you requested."

Aragorn hesitated. "Are you going to…to try to run away or get your knife?"

There was a pause. Finally, "No."

'

Sighing with relief at the Elf's acquiescence, Aragorn moved and helped his friend to a sitting position. As Legolas moved to push a strand of hair out of his eyes Aragorn noticed a severe bleeding. He caught the slender wrist gently in one hand and examined it. Legolas, he realized, was already beginning to show from the loss of blood. He quickly removed his own shirt and, tearing it into strips, bound it about the Elf's wrist tightly so as to stop the bleeding. Legolas weakly tried to tug his hand away from Aragorn but gave up quickly as Aragorn finished and kept his hand there to secure the cloths.

"We'll have to have healers look after your ankle," Aragorn told him. Legolas flinched. Apparently he didn't want to be looked after.

Legolas sat with his back to the wall, shivering. Aragorn moved closer to him and put his arm around the elf's shoulders.

"What drove you to do this, Legolas?" he asked softly. "I thought I knew you better than this."

Legolas didn't answer. It took Aragorn a moment to notice that tears had suddenly begun to fall from the elf's sapphire eyes.

"Whatever is wrong?" Aragorn asked worriedly. "Please, Legolas, please, tell me what's wrong…"

"It was my fault," Legolas burst out suddenly, his voice choking.

"What was your fault?" Aragorn asked curiously.

"Helms Deep," Legolas whispered, a haunted look coming over his face. He slumped away from Aragorn and looked away from his friend. Aragorn suddenly realized how thin and ragged Legolas had been looking of late. "I…I didn't kill him…that one orc…and all those deaths…those ones that happened when the wall blew up, and let the creatures in…it was my fault…if I'd killed him it would not have happened…I don't deserve to live, Aragorn."

"_What?" _Aragorn's grip tightened unconsciously on the prince's wrist, causing him to wince with pain. Aragorn, feeling this, quickly slackened his hold.

"It was my fault. I should die. I should!"

"Legolas, Legolas…" Aragorn murmured, disbelief coursing through his body as he numbly took in his friend's words. "Mellon-nin, you fought bravely. Have you not heard the praise of the men who fought alongside you? They marvel at your abilities in battle. And the women and children, too. They look at you in wonder. You fought valiantly. You did all you could to slay the enemy. There was nothing more you could have done. All that was in your power to do you did."

"No," Legolas whispered faintly. "No, Aragorn, that is not true. How I wish I could say it was true. But it is not."

Aragorn looked into his friend's eyes and saw within them emotions he had never before witnessed so strongly in the crystal blue eyes: despair, confusion, anger, and most of all—_guilt. _

He shook his head sadly and stood up. "Come on, Legolas," he said, tugging gently on the elf's wrist.

"Why?" the eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital wing," Aragorn said firmly. "You need rest and your ankle need attention, as do these slashes in your wrists."

Legolas fairly panicked. "No! No! I will _not!"_

"Oh, yes, you will," Aragorn said grimly. "We have been over this before, Legolas, and you should know from previous experiences that when your life is on the line I am not simply going to sit around and wait for you to die. If you do not come I shall be forced to drag you there myself."

Slowly Legolas stood up. Aragorn was amazed; threats such as the one he had just delivered had never intimidated the elf before, not unless it was delivered either by Lord Elrond or the Prince's own father. More often than not he, Elladan and Elrohir had had to literally wrestle the elf into bed to get him to rest, or force him to drink medicine or something of the like.

So that was why Aragorn was instantly suspicious of the elf's apparent acquiescence and submission.

His suspicions were not, unfortunately, misplaced. The second he had regained footing and balance Legolas had lunged across the room to where his deadly Elven knife had landed, snatched it up, and had begun to cut himself wildly with it.

"_No!" _Aragorn growled. In a second he had followed Legolas and was once again prying the knife out of Legolas's grasp. It was not a difficult task. Legolas was by this time very weak from loss of the blood and his fall.

"I am sorry I have to do this, mellon-nin," Aragorn said softly. He drew back his fist and hit Legolas solidly on the side of the head. A blow which would cause a bruise, but nothing worse. The blow had the desired effect; Legolas slumped into Aragorn's arms, unconscious.

Aragorn picked the elf's light blood-covered body up and, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, took him to the hospital wing.

"I will talk with you later,' he told to Healer shortly. "Keep any sharp objects or anything remotely dangerous away from him if he awakes before I return."

The man gaped at him but Aragorn ignored him. He strode out of the room. He had to find someone.

**TBC if there is enough interest…**


	2. Crystal Tears

**Hi All,**

**I decided I didn't really like this chapter much, so I went back and edited it. I hope it's better than before.**

Chapter 2: Crystal Tears

Aragorn son of Arathorn strode down away from the hospital wing. He needed to find Gimli. The Dwarf needed to know what had happened to his Elf friend. Of course, Gimli would probably say why should he care that the stupid Elf had gone and tried to kill himself, and they'd be better without him anyways, but Aragorn knew him better than that.

Reaching Gimli's quarters he pounded heavily on the door. "Gimli!"

No answer.

The Dwarf was probably pretending to be asleep, not wanting to be disturbed. Aragorn couldn't blame him; none of them had gotten much rest lately. So either Gimli was trying to sleep and would be highly irritable and slightly furious at disturbances such as this, or he was already asleep and being woken up would increase aforementioned irritation by about ten times, at which point the eruption caused by the livid Dwarf would possibly create minor earthquakes.

Well, that was just too bad for the him, Aragorn decided. Whether Legolas lived was much more important than whether Gimli got his nap.

"Open up, Gimli, or else I'm coming in," Aragorn warned.

There was still no reply.

"I mean it, Gimli!"

A dead silence was all he got.

"Fine." Aragorn was _not _in a mood to be toyed with. Reaching for the handle, he twisted it open and stepped into the room.

Sure enough, the Dwarf was lying on a cot in the corner of the room. Aragorn's well-tuned Ranger ears caught bits of mutterings such as, "No respect for my privacy," and such "Stupid filthy human,"—as if Gimli was one to be talking about being filthy—, along with Dwarvish curses that made Aragorn raise his eyebrows slightly from what he understood. But that was of no matter.

Gimli rolled grumpily off of his cot. "What do you want, Aragorn?" he thundered. "Haven't I earned any sleep? The battle is over, there can't be anything important unless we are about to be attacked by another thousand orcs, which I know for a fact we are not."

"Gimli—" Aragorn tried, but Gimli was on a roll and was not going to be stopped now.

"I won't have it, Aragorn! I get dragged on this quest to save the world with none of my own kin, little Halflings who can't think of anything but their stomachs, Men whose ambitions are to be king of the world—"

"Neither Boromir or I desired to be king of the world," Aragorn cut in, to be immediately steamrollered by the incensed Dwarf.

"And a stupid prissy Elf who always came out of the battles looking like he'd recently taken a shower!"

"Speaking of Legolas—" Aragorn attempted, growing angry.

But now Gimli had gotten onto the subject of The Elf, and was not giving up, now that he had a full one-sided conversation's worth of words complaining about him. Finally Aragorn decided he'd had enough and bellowed, "That's fine, Gimli, I'll just let you get back to sleep. I'll just let your suicidal Elf friend know you couldn't care less that he jumped off of Helms Deep!"

That stopped Gimli in mid-rant. "Suicidal—you don't mean—_Legolas_--?"

Aragorn nodded. "If you wanted to see him later, he might appreciate that."

"I'll see him **now**," Gimli snapped.

"No," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "He's…well, unconscious. And he could be for quite a while yet. So later maybe but—Gimli, are you—?"

For Gimli had turned away, but Aragorn thought he had seen a trickle of moisture coming from the gruff Dwarf's eye before he did so. However, he figured he might have imagined it for when Gimli turned back there was no trace of tears from him.

"He'll be all right," Aragorn said softly. "In all the years I've known him, he's never given up. And he won't now."

Gimli nodded. "Of course he'll live. He'd better. I mean, that'd make the whole lot of them liars, claiming they're immortal and then going and getting themselves killed, wouldn't it? I always knew Elves were self-contradictory."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and smiled in spite of himself. "Just come see him later," he said.

"I will," Gimli called as Aragorn left, and Aragorn could hear him muttering under his breath as he exited the room, "Though whatever he did for me that I should actually go visit him is beyond me…"

_D_

"I'm back,' Aragorn announced brusquely to the healers who were attending to Legolas. They looked up at him, startled, before their expressions cleared.

There were three of them, bending over the still-unconscious Elf, who, Aragorn thought with very mild amusement, would be extremely irritated if he woke to find three Men in his face, Healers or not. 'Dirty, disgusting, filthy, unclean Humans', would probably be a somewhat accurate description of the Elf's chosen vocabulary of the situation.

Mirkwood's Prince was not looking very well. He was even more pale than usual and his breathing was shallow and uneven. His ankle was bound tightly, and it looked as though he had broken some ribs, too, that Aragorn hadn't noticed before, for there were the beginnings of a tight bandage job around his otherwise-bare chest. Blood oozed from beneath the crusted, dried blood which matted the Prince's long hair. There were bruises all over his body.

"How is he?" he asked softly, pulling up a chair beside Legolas's bed and staring sadly at the unmoving Elf.

"Well…" One of the healers began, then changed his mind and looked down at the floor.

"What?" Aragorn demanded.

"He's lost a lot of blood, my lord," another said. He glanced up at Aragorn questioningly. "In fact…I don't know how he could have survived losing this much blood. No one I've ever seen has been able to lose that much blood and still be alive. And he has broken ribs, a broken ankle…how he still lives I do not know."

"He is an Elf,' Aragorn said quietly. "They can withstand things humans cannot."

The healers nodded, then became more business-like. "Now you must tell us exactly what happened," one of them instructed. "So we will know how to treat him. We have detected the broken ribs, and ankle, as well as the major cuts, but if there is anything more…"

Aragorn sighed. "Very well," he said slowly. "He attempted suicide," he said softly. The healers were shocked. Their jaws dropped.

"This is…this is the same Elf—that fought at Helms Deep? He slew many orcs!" cried one of the healers. "What made him—why—?"

"He thought it his fault that the breach in the wall was made," Aragorn said heavily. "I know it was not his fault!" he said defensively as the men opened their mouths in protest to this statement. "So, since he believed the blame to be entirely on him, he thought he was not worthy of life and therefore tried to take it from himself. He slit his wrists, but this was only after another failed attempt to destroy himself—he jumped from one of the peaks above what is currently left of Helms Deep.

"_Eru," _said the man to Aragorn left in amazement. "He _survived _that? With only broken ribs and ankle? Oh, no, now there may be internal bleeding, too…but how could he survive? Not even Elves…"

Aragorn smiled sadly. "He has survived things worse than this before. Only his will to live through it has diminished to nothing. Before there have been times when it was nearly completely his desire for life which kept the breath in his body. But now I fear if we cannot persuade him of his own innocence, he shall not give any attempt at holding on and we will lose him."

He breathed deeply. "Leave me," he said. "I must try and wake him to speak with him. Anything you have not already done to help him can wait until later."

"As you wish, my lord," they murmured, and filed out in a line, shutting the door behind them.

Once they were gone, Aragorn knelt next to Legolas's bedside and took the Elf's cold hand in his own. He could feel, somehow, the Prince's desire for life slipping away. It wasn't like times before, when he could somehow know that Legolas's life hung by a thread and it was only his resolution to survive which kept him from stealing away into darkness.

"Wake up," he murmured. "You must awaken. I will not let you leave this earth, I am not going to let you die! Do you hear me? _Lasto beth nin…lasto im! Tolo dan nan galad. Saes, Galenlas! Mellon-nin, saes…tol dan…" _Aragorn trailed off in a whisper of the Grey Tongue. He stared into the bright yet cloudy and unseeing blue eyes of his friend, clutching the cold, slender fingers in his own warm hand and willed the Elf to wake up, as if somehow his own willpower could bring out the Elf's own.

But there was no sign of any movement from the Elf, just gentle breathing, and even that was barely there.

Aragorn laid his head down upon his hands which covered the Prince's, and allowed the lone tear which had formed in one eye slip down his cheek.

It fell onto the Elf's pale hand, and Aragorn, his face down on the bed, did not notice. Suddenly Legolas's hand moved, and Aragorn looked up, hardly daring to hope.

"Legolas?" he questioned softly.

The Prince blinked, the cloudiness in his eyes fading, and being replaced with a sort of dim recollection and realization of his friend's presence, along with a dull sort of emptiness.

"Aragorn," he stated, giving no leave of his emotions, if any were present at the sight of the Ranger.

"Aye," Aragorn replied.

"What are you doing here?" he glanced about the room, and his eyes lingered on his own damaged body. "How did _I _get here?"

"I brought you here."

The Elf apparently did not appreciate the human's answer, for he narrowed his eyes, settled back in his bed and glared at Aragorn. "You should have allowed me to die."

Aragorn glared right back. "As if. Legolas, in all the years I have known you do you really think that I would allow my best friend's life to slip away when I could prevent it?"

For a moment Legolas did not answer. Then his eyes softened and he answered quietly, "No. I do not suppose you would." He looked away and sighed. "But why, Aragorn? Why did you have to do it? Why did you have to interfere? It would have been so much easier…"

"What, if I had let you continue drawing your own blood till your body turned to a corpse the color of the moon? If I had simply stood by and watched the life drain from you?" Aragorn was getting slightly irritated that his friend actually had this ridiculous outlook on the situation. "I think not, Legolas." Aragorn's grey eyes bore into Legolas's sad blue ones. To his surprise, the elf flinched and looked away. "And I ask you, mellon-nin, why? Why did you try to do this to yourself? Have you heard grave news from Mirkwood, perhaps? Maybe your father is wounded. Did the battle go so badly?"

The Prince slowly, very slowly, dragged his empty eyes to meet Aragorn's concerned gaze. "I…I failed, Aragorn," the Elf whispered, a haunted look making its way into his pale features.

"What?" Aragorn was completely thrown by this piece of information.

"I failed," Legolas repeated, more strongly now. "I failed you. I failed the king. Failed the Men and Elves who died. All of them." He raised a hand as Aragorn began to protest, cutting the Human off. "You told me to kill that one orc which alone carried that deadly flaming torch. I have killed hundreds of Dark minions; why could I not kill this one? It was but one. And in my failure, the wall was breached. Do you know how many died simply because of the explosion? Not to mention those which were killed by the orcs which were permitted entry from the hole. If Eomer had not come we would have been lost; had I destroyed my target we would not have depended so badly on his aid. It was as though my arrows pierced their hearts. I killed them, Aragorn, I know I did. And…I…I don't deserve—to live," he finished, tears of anger and frustration slipping down his face. He looked away, his face ashamed and guilty.

Aragorn's eyes were wide with horror. "Oh, Legolas, no!" He murmured. "_Va, mellon-nin!_" Slipping out of the Grey Tongue he said, "You fought bravely! You—you fought as valiantly as any of us there. The blame lies not on you that the orc was not slain—you did as well as could have been expected. You were under pressure—and I highly doubt that there was a more experienced archer there who could have done better than you. None of us could even managed to hit the moving target as you, much less—"

"You could," cut in Legolas quietly.

"We both know that of the two of us you are the better archer," Aragorn corrected.

"If I had hit it a bit more accurately it would have been killed," snarled Legolas. "I do not care what it is you tell me, Aragorn—the fault lies with me and with me alone. I am known throughout Middle-Earth for never missing a shot. People think I always complete my motive—injuring, killing, wounding, maiming—they think if my intention was to kill my shot will kill. You can see, that at the most important time for their beliefs to be true, they were not. I see not why you wish to call yourself my friend—a friend of a murderer. You cannot possibly forgive me for such an atrocity against your own kinsmen."

"Legolas," said Aragorn softly. "If I had done this, and you knew it was not intentional, would you forgive me or have me blame myself?" _Not that I was angry at you in the first place…_

Too quickly Legolas said, "I would forgive you, of course…but…oh…"

"Exactly." Aragorn sat back in his chair and smirked slightly at the Elf. His point had been made. If Legolas still insisted upon taking all the fault upon himself, Aragorn would simply be completely perplexed as to the Elf's lack of ability to see perfect logic.

Unfortunately, he never had been able to totally understand Elves. His eyes widened incredulously as Legolas shook his head and sank back against the pillows.

'It's very kind of you, Aragorn," he murmured. "But I don't deserve kindness. There are others on whom your kind words would be better spent. It would be best if you left, I think, and offered comfort to those who ought to have it."

Now Aragorn was at a complete loss for words. He didn't know what he should say. Clearly the Elf was not in any mood for Aragorn to persuade him it wasn't his fault, yet if he left him alone…

"I—I can't, Legolas…if I leave you in here, I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself again."

Legolas hesitated. "I—swear by the Valar I will not bring any harm to myself if you leave."

Now Aragorn hesitated. Anything sworn by the Valar was not easily broken. Legolas had far too much respect to go against anything he swore by them…at least the old Legolas had.

"Why don't you trust me anymore?" Legolas asked, correctly interpreting Aragorn's silence. "You used to trust me with your life."

_I still do_, Aragorn thought bitterly. _But can I trust you with yours? _Finally he said, with a heavy heart, "Very well, Legolas. I go by your honor that you stay where you are and hold to your word."

He got up and glanced sadly back at the Elf. "I'll be back later, my friend."

He made his way to the door, which he opened, and, after stepping out, closed it again.

_D_

There was only one thing on the mind of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood as his best friend left his presence for the time being.

Death.

And it was the same thought which prevailed over all the rest as he reached painfully for the surgical knife which one of the healers had carelessly lying around…the Valar didn't matter…who cared that he'd sworn...he'd be dead anyway, in Mandos's Halls…His fingers closed around the delicate porcelain handle as he drew it towards himself…


	3. Too Late for Legolas Greenleaf

**Hello there! (waves politely at reviewers and other passers-by) Nice to see you, I'm glad you're here!**

**Well, I found out how much I was loved by my reviewers. They threatened to send Balrogs, mafia and pitchforks after me if I didn't update. It's good to feel loved, you know what I mean? Lol.**

**Well, I hope you enjoy the new chapter, and please leave me a review if you liked it enough!**

**-TRS-**

**-----3-----**

Gimli strode down one of the long, dark halls of Helms Deep. The battle was done, and he was glad. Far too many had died that day. His heart ached at the awful thought of everything that had happened during that battle. Too many Men had died. Though they were not his kin and he held no special love for them, theirs were lives all the same and any loss of life saddened him. Especially when those lives were fighting for a noble cause, fighting though there was little hope. He admired their courage. They had stood and fought bravely when it seemed they would all be slaughtered. Not a single one had tried to back out of his duties. Each had accepted his fate, not knowing whether he would live to see the morning light. They had not faltered when the hordes of Isengard rained down on them. They did not waver when all appeared lost. Every man—or boy—had stood his ground, fighting, avenging, until he was overwhelmed and took his last breath.

This also saddened the Dwarf. From an early age his people were trained for battle. Every young Dwarf knew that to defend his keep he must always be ready to do so. And the Dwarves, being miners, always had gems and silver, gold and diamonds, sometimes even mithril that they had to guard. Yes, his people were always prepared for battle.

But these young ones of Rohan…Gimli had seen them. He had seen them look upon a sword as though they'd never seen one before. He remembered Aragorn's words from earlier— "_Farmers, farriers, stable boys…these are no soldiers."_

And he was right. The boys had not idea what to do with a sword. They were used to plowing, not killing. They should not have been saddling horses for their fathers, not putting on armor. Their hearts should have been racing for joy at the thoughts that they had their entire lives ahead of them, but instead their hearts had raced in terror at the thought that they might not even see another day. Even those who had survived now lived in fear. Fear that another attack might come. That even though they survived this battle, there were good chances that they wouldn't survive the next.

They would never have normal lives now. Their childhood had been rudely halted and brutally murdered. Their awful memories would remain with them forever. Most of them had friends who had died. The haunting horror of seeing their friends cut down in battle fight was more than terrible. Gimli had heard the terrified sobs of the boys who had awoken in the night when only he was awake. Their mothers comforted their sons from the nightmares, but the images in those children's minds would never go away. If he could have his way Gimli would not allow any child older than some at Helms Deep to witness anything a quarter of the horrors that had happened.

It made him hate Saruman and his foul Uruk-Hai even more. The corrupt Istari had no right to steal something as precious as childhood from anyone. He had taken their innocence and turned it into something monstrous. He had forced them into something they had never wanted. He had made farmers into soldiers, and soldiers into hardened, emotionless stoics.

The Men were not the only ones who had had losses. There were Elves at Helms Deep, too. Those Elves had fought valiantly as well, and though Gimli would never admit it he held a shining respect for the Elves who had come to fight and die in a battle that was not theirs. They were as innocent as the children in some ways. They should not have experienced death as they did, just as many young boys had met their untimely death defending their country until the end. But the Elves…they had nothing to defend. Their leader, Haldir, said they had come to honor the old alliances, but Rohan held little value in their hearts, except that it was a peopled land. The Elves respected life in every aspect, and thus respected Rohan, but otherwise the land of the horse-masters was only another land of humans, mortal and fallible.

Elves were not supposed to die. Gimli knew that. Though he knew he could never understand the full extent of their immortality, he knew enough to know that the death of an Elf was a terrible thing. He could not imagine what it would be like to hold the key to paradise, to be used whenever it was desired, and then to have that key snatched away and be thrown into utter darkness.

Every Elf was destined to live forever in youth and beauty. Their lights would never wane, their songs would never fade, and their happiness was meant to go on for eternity. For just one Elf to die it was considered a terrible tragedy.

Over three hundred Elves had come to Helms Deep to fight for a cause that was not theirs.

And not a single Elf had survived the battle except one…

Except…

Legolas.

Gimli's pace quickened as his thoughts led him to his friend…well, that is, to the elf. He knew the prince had tried to kill himself, and he could not describe the anguish he had felt when Aragorn told him what had happened, and he thought the elf just might be dead. Even though he never showed it, he held deep affection for the stupid Elf.

"If anything happens to you, elf, there'll be hell to pay," Gimli rumbled, not realizing that he was talking to himself. This was the reason he was even down this particular hall—it lead to the hospital wing, and he planned to sit down and have a good long chat with Legolas to make sure this whole suicide thing didn't get in the way of their arguing.

He hadn't any idea why the flighty creature had wanted to die…after all, he had only beat the elf by one orc…and anyway, Legolas had probably killed countless more than he had in his years—well, millenia, really—of being a warrior-prince.

Well, he figured the only way to find out was to ask the ridiculous Elf himself. That, Gimli told himself firmly, was the only reason he was even going to see the Elf. He was going to ask why on earth he'd try to kill himself, and then express sorrow that it hadn't worked, and that would be that. Oh, and he would probably have to try to keep his voice from breaking, too, but that was entirely beside the point.

He halted in front of a large wooden door. Carefully he put his ear to it, in case one of the Healers was in there, looking after the Elf, or if Aragorn was in there, lecturing him again.

He could hear nothing. He supposed this meant that there were no Healers there, for the humans, in his opinion, always made a lot of noise, and he would definitely know if they were in there.

This probably also meant that Aragorn was not there, either, since he could hear no voices. He thought perhaps they might be speaking in Elvish, which was a soft, quiet tongue, but he thought also that if they were speaking in Elvish it meant that they were arguing, which they never did in Westron, and thus didn't want anyone to understand what they were saying. Therefore, they would likely be yelling, and Gimli would be able to hear them.

Having finished his assessment of the situation, Gimli cautiously poked a finger into the door, pushing it a crack open. He could see the foot of a bed. There appeared to be a still figure in it.

He pushed the door open all the way. He was being very quiet, for a Dwarf, so quiet that the preoccupied figure lying on his back did not notice him.

The figure was holding a thin knife that Gimli recognized as the kind used by the Healers for the most precise surgery.

And the figure was holding the slim knife to his own throat.

"Oh no, you don't," growled Gimli. He darted forward and knocked the knife out of Legolas's hand, much to the startlement of the Elf, who had not noticed his visitor.

"Gimli," Legolas croaked, slumping back down onto his pillows, looking weakened and defeated. "Gimli, don't. Please, give it back."

Gimli rolled his eyes. "I think not, Master Elf. What, so I can sit here and watch you die? So I can be the one responsible for handing you your own death? So I can explain to Aragorn exactly how I—" he stopped, noticing that Legolas had dropped his head and tears had formed in his sad eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. 'I didn't mean…I guess the battle had just gotten to me…I'm not trying to…" he trailed off as Legolas shook his head.

'It's not your fault," the elf whispered. "It's mine."

Gimli blinked. "Excuse me?"

Legolas bit his lip. He did not feel like going over this again. He had just gone over it with Estel. "I…ask Aragorn. Go ask him."

Gimli shook his head, scowling. "Oh no, you're not getting rid of me that easily. I'll just have Aragorn come here."

Legolas's eyes flew wide open; he knew what the Dwarf was about to do. "Gimli—don't—" he said weakly, but Gimli just ignored him. Filling his lungs with air, he strode to the door, flung it wide, opened his mouth and bellowed, "ARAGORN SON OF ARATHORN! HOSPITAL WING! NOW! IT'S THE ELF!" while Legolas winced at the noise. The elf could have sworn the foundations of Helms Deep shook.

Satisfied, Gimli took a seat next to Legolas's bed and began to smoke his pipe, mostly to annoy the Elf.

"There's nothing wrong with me," said Legolas sulkily. "He's going to think I'm dying or something, and—"

"—and come pelting down the halls, literally dropping whatever he was doing, rudely shoving everyone out of his way to make sure his best friend didn't try to kill himself again," said Gimli, sounding pleased with himself. "Screaming like a baby the entire way," he added.

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, "He's not coming."

"Don't be ridiculous. Give it another three seconds."

Sure enough, three seconds later there was the definite sound of pounding feet, of people being rudely pushed to the side, and of an anxious Ranger bellowing angrily at anyone who got in the way.

"Where is he? What happened? GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Gimli smiled at the scowling Legolas. "Told you."

Aragorn burst in the door, sweating and wild-eyed. "What happened?" he demanded, rushing to Legolas and giving him a thorough examination to make sure nothing was wrong. Legolas scowled more deeply.

"I'm _fine,_ Aragorn," he said irritably. "The _dwarf_ here—" he jerked a thumb at Gimli, who looked entirely too pleased that his plan had worked and didn't seem to notice the two sets of eyes narrowed in his direction. "Thought it best if he set you into a panic."

"Not at all," said Gimli breezily, trampling right over Aragorn in his attempts to speak. "In fact, you should be thanking be, irresponsible Ranger that you are, for saving your elf's life. You see, as I walked in the door to visit him, he had this knife—" Gimli held up the surgical knife he'd found Legolas with. "—up to his own throat. I got here exactly in time to knock it out of his hands." He gave Aragorn a very self-righteous, 'so-there' sort of look. "And now I would really like to know why he tried to kill himself."

Aragorn glanced back and forth from Gimli, who was puffing steadily on his pipe and looking matter-of-factly at the Ranger, to Legolas, who was giving the Dwarf a rather mutinous look. After a moment he sank to the floor next to the bed and put his head in his hands.

"I can't believe you, Legolas," he said, his voice muffled. "You told me—you _promised _me—"

"Promises," Legolas said quietly. "Can be broken."

Aragorn looked up. "You don't understand," he said fiercely. "Legolas—_I can't lose you._"

Man and Elf stared at each other for a moment, before Legolas broke contact and looked away. "I'm sorry, Estel," he whispered, his voice miserable. "I'm sorry—I just—I can't—"

"Can't what?" demanded Aragorn. His eyes bore into Legolas's desperately, searching for a spark of life that would signify the old Legolas that he knew and loved.

"I cannot live with their blood on my hands," the elf almost cried. He looked so pitiful Gimli almost felt sorry for him. But still, his curiosity was aroused by the prince's statement.

"Whose blood?" he asked.

Legolas turned a haunted gaze to the Dwarf. "Has not Aragorn told you?"

"Told me what?"

"About the men that I murdered." Legolas would not look at him.

"Excuse me?" the Dwarf's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What are you—"

"You did not murder them," Aragorn cut in swiftly. He turned to Gimli. "Legolas believes—falsely—that he is to blame for the breach in the wall. He believes the blood of the dead is on his hands."

Gimli's jaw dropped. Of all the ridiculous notions…how could he possibly think that? He knew Legolas would never intentionally kill any innocent thing…and anyway, he hadn't killed them at all. He was easily the best archer at Helms Deep, how could he believe he was to blame for this?

"Elf," he said gruffly. "If anyone could have made that shot, it was you. I don't even believe that anyone else in Middle-Earth could have hit that orc twice once while it was running, with hundreds of obstacles in the way, from the top of a wall. You hit it twice. And even if you had killed it another would have taken its place. You did everything you could have—and more. You did everything in your power to stop it."

"He is right," said Aragorn softly. He looked at Legolas, pleading with him. He took the elf's hand in his. It was cold. He knew Legolas had already lost the will to live, and life was slipping away from the Elven body as they spoke. If they did not convince Legolas of his innocence, he would die in less than three hours. The knife, the fall…those had only been catalysts, speeding up the end results.

Only Legolas could save himself now.

His friends could do no more.

The question was, would he do it?

Would he leave his friends and Middle-Earth to their fate?

Would he abandon his father to endless grief?

Would he give up everything he held dear?

Did he even hold anything dear anymore?

Legolas closed his eyes. He felt at peace as his life drained out of him.

Gimli started in shock, dropping his pipe. He hadn't actually he would do it…

Aragorn clutched the elf's hand and, stared, horrified, at the still, lifeless form of his best friend.

"No," he breathed, but it was too late.

Too late for Legolas Greenleaf.

**OOOOHHH! CLIFFIE! What's going to happen? Only I know, and the only way you'll know is by reviewing…muahahaha (ducks).**


	4. Battling Shadows

**Yay, we all love revisions…**

**Hihi! Please don't kill me…I'm honestly beginning to really wish I had never started up on FFN because now there are people who actually want to hear from me and I cannot keep up with this commitment because I do have a life…grrr, it was so much easier before…anyway, I'm going to try really hard to finish at least this story because it'll probably only have one or two or at the very most three more chapters left. So…here's the next chapter. Please review. )**

**For disclaimer, summary, rating etc., please see a previous chapter. **

**Ta,**

**TRS**

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** Before the Fall**

** Chapter 4**

** Battling Shadows**

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**_Wake me up  
_**_**Wake me up inside  
**__**Can't wake up  
**__**Wake me up inside  
**__**Save me…  
**__**Call my name and save me from the dark…  
**__**Bid my blood to run  
**__**I can't wake up  
**__**Before I come undone  
**__**Save me  
**__**Save me from the nothing I've become  
**__**Bring me to life…**_

_**--Evanescence, 'Bring me to Life'**_

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**Part I**

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It was morning.

No, it couldn't be.

It was frigid like the morning, but it was dark, and emotionless.

Morning was not emotionless. It was not dark. It was full of passion, and beauty, and light.

There was a sunrise every morning.

Legolas had been wandering around the morning for what seemed like hours and there had been no sunrise.

Morning was pleasant. You could always hear live things in the morning. Legolas could not hear a single thing. He opened his mouth just to hear his own voice and spoke a word but still he could hear nothing.

It was a still, cold darkness, a void, where no one and nothing lived.

A two-dimensional world of black and grey. There was nothing to see but cold black and grey. It was a lonely, bitter world.

Silent, grave, pointless.

_So this is death_? The elf's soul wondered rather sadly. _I should have thought it would be like a release. I thought it would be more pleasant. _

Something stirred within him. Something like a willow in the wind, moving him. It was a strange emotion, one he had seldom felt before.

Loneliness.

But now, faced with eternity in this cold, black abyss, it grew stronger and stronger until his terror at being alone forever, with no one or nothing, no noise, no people, animals—anything—was full.

A chill started up his spine and he could not stop shaking. Try as he might he could not seem to get warm again. Tendrils of fear, raw, incomprehensibly strong fear, wrapped themselves around his heart and squeezed.

He tried to move, but found that he could not. In fact, something seemed to have taken hold of his feet, like glue, and it was slowly sucking him down. Desperately he attempted to move but he only succeeded in getting himself further stuck. Thoughts of doubt and despair and hopelessness began to root themselves in his heart and he choked back a cry of terror.

It was a graveyard, and the elf's heart beat to the tune of terror. Darkness resounded and he reeled, screaming at nothing, every beat of his heart thrumming louder and louder yet somehow still silent.

He cried out in terror, wanting to hear himself, wanting someone to hear him—_anyone—_

…but there was nothing.

He beat his fists on the nothingness of this deathly still place, his heart twisting in anguish for fear of being left alone.

He screamed but there was nothing there, nothing to carry his voice. He wondered as he cried his throat dry if he was even capable of speech in this demonic place.

And that was when he figured out if this was death, he did not want to die.

_But do I not deserve it?_ He thought, his mind in turmoil, desperately miserable yet similarly confused. _Do I not deserve this misery for the lives which I stole?_

He did deserve it. He must. Or he would not be here. He deserved fully this suffering.

But…where were the soldiers? Where were those to whom he intended to make his apology? It didn't make sense.

Then it hit him. They were not here. They whose lives for which he felt responsible were not here.

_It cannot be!_ His mind cried in utter despair. _If they are not here…where are they? And where am I?_

_"Aragorn," _his heart cried out silently, still no sound made known. _"If ever you loved me, help me now… You cannot hear me, but…"_

He faltered. If Aragorn couldn't hear him, then why did he even bother…?

He sighed in despair. He could feel himself sinking back down into the abyss. For just a few seconds, while his heart bled the truth, he thought he saw a brief flash of light and thought he could hear sound. He thought he could sense being lifted out of that horrid darkness. Such fleeting joy he felt! But not anymore.

_The afterlife is cruel,_ he thought despairingly. _To allow me to experience such joy at being alive again, and then to sink back down into this pit of doom…I was a fool indeed!_

He knew he was sinking as one would in quicksand, but much more quickly, and this stuff held on so much more tightly.

He thought he could feel the darkness taunting him, saying, _Do not leave me, little elf! I much desire your company…there are many others here with you, though you cannot feel them. Stay here with me… your worst nightmare…_

And then he could hear it laughing at him, and it terrified him, and he fought it, trying to climb out of this eternal pit. But his hands reached dust, the walls gave way, every time he gained ground it crumbled to ash beneath his trembling fingers as he sank deeper and deeper into the mire. He threw himself against the walls of his tomb, a sob breaking from his lips, his mind wild and in a panic.

Finally, shaking uncontrollably, he crumpled at Darkness' feet, vulnerable to its evils, unable to fight any longer. His strength was gone, spent, used up fighting something invisible and invincible. One could only battle shadows for so long…

"Aragorn…"

He knew his friend couldn't hear him, but he had to ask anyway, had to get it out of him before the darkness claimed him. Ohterwise, his soul would never rest.

"Forgive me…" the words escaped as a sigh on his lips, and he fell back into the unmerciful darkness, no longer fighting. Some semblence of life still fought to remain in him, but if something was not done, it would be too late…

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**_But where will you go?  
_**_**With no one left to save you from yourself…  
**__**You can't escape the truth…  
**__**I realize you're afraid  
**__**But you can't abandon everyone  
**__**You can't escape  
**__**You don't want to escape…**_

_**--Evanescence, 'Where Will You Go?'**_

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**Part II**

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"_No…_"

Aragorn's voice was a mere anguished whisper as he clutched the hand of the one whose life he had saved many times, and who had saved his multiple times as well. He felt as though a monster clawed at him from within, tearing up his insides and clawing out his heart as he watched his best friend fade away before his eyes, from grief over something for which he was not faulted. It was impossible helplessess; here was the elf whom he loved as a brother, whose life he had been able to save so many times before…yet now, in the direst of moments, the elf's life lay in only one person's hands…Legolas's own. And it tore at Aragorn, wrenching at his heart, because there deep dread had taken root, knowing that now, Legolas was slipping away, his desire to live waning, and an unspoken whisper in his heart saying that if Legolas should have the choice, he would not choose life…

Legolas was now deathly white, even for the elf. His eyes were only half-lidded. Aragorn noted this with a dual jolt of terror and of hope. His eyes weren't entirely closed, which meant he hadn't given in to death yet, but Elves never had their eyes even partially closed unless it was to pose as a human or, more likely, they had suffered grevious hurt.

"Aragorn."

Aragorn's head snapped up. He was instantly alert, not breathing, waiting, all his senses balancing on a knife's edge, staring intently into the empty, glassy, half-lidded eyes of his best friend. His mind held no thought except that of _Legolas_. His heart pounded and idly in his mind he wished to quiet it so he could better hear the resounding silence, hoping against hope and praying like he never had before to hear but one more word spoken from the graceful lips of the motionless elf before him.

"Legolas…?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, filled with dread and hope. He dared not believe that Legolas had chosen to live, for the elf's intent to die had been so monumental. Yet he could not shut out that glimmer of hope, that faint flickering of potential joy that had fluttered in his chest at the single word his friend had spoken, for it was a spark of hope, it meant that Legolas still might choose life…

"Legolas, you must come back," he whispered desperately, fighting back the tears which threatened to cascade down his face. Tears like rain, ready to unleash in a torrential flood down the heartbroken Ranger's face, should his friend resign himself to death and leave those who held him dear.

"Forgive me…" Legolas shuddered and sighed.

"There is nothing to forgive," Aragorn stated fiercely, gazing deeply at his friend and clutching his hand in a vise-like grip. He waited, searching for some sign that the elf had heard him, but there was nothing. No movement of the hand, no twitching of the lips. His chest barely rose and fell again.

"We need you here, _I_ need you here…_saes, mellon nin, gwair nin, saes, utule…" _He slipped into the Grey tongue, almost unconsciously, as though hopeful it would touch the Elf in the vast darkness which he surely faced.

A sudden fear gripped his heart, new and penetrating; what if Legolas could not come back? What if he had slipped too far and too deep into Death's clutches to escape, even if he wanted to? No. Aragorn refused to believe Mandos would be so cruel. Though tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around his heart tightly, squeezing at his courage, he refused to give in. He had to be strong. Legolas needed him to be strong.

He sang softly to the elf, doing his best to keep his voice steady, though with every word he sang a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over. He did not let them. He gripped Legolas's hand and forced himself to remain steady and calm, refusing to let wicked fear take hold of him. If he did, Legolas would surely be lost.

"You will survive," he whispered fiercely into the elf's ear, though he was uncertain whether the unmoving prince could even hear him.

And still Legolas battled shadows.

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"_Saes, mellon nin, gwair nin, utule…" _

There it was, the shred of light, the promise of hope again! Even as Legolas sank deeper and deeper into the endless darkness, a flicker of light shone again, however briefly. He knew those words, he knew their meaning. It was the light at the end of the tunnel, he could see again!

_Snap._

The first chain binding him there had broken, and he felt it a little easier to breath.

Those words, they meant Aragorn still wanted him, they meant he forgave him, that he would take him back, in all his foolish wanderings.

He would not stay here longer with his dark thoughts, with his despondency and guilt. Those things were gone. They would haunt him no longer. By the Valar, he would get out of this mess he had created or he would die trying. At another moment the irony might have hit him, but now, his fierce determination prevailed and he concentrated entirely on escaping the inescapable.

Willful fortitude filled his entire being, and mustering his remaining strength he prepared to remove himself from his surroundings.

_Snap._

Suddenly, just a little easier to move…

He filled his mind with all the wonderful memories, and shut out all the bad things. He could see his loving father, his adored sister, his beloved home, and of course…Aragorn.

_Snap._

Legolas tugged some more, but somehow he was still stuck.

He shut his eyes and forced back the terror which threatened to creep once more into his soul. Breathing heavily, he remembered only the good and forced out the bad. He could see Mirkwood. _Snap._ He saw his sister smiling at him, pleading for him to play with her, and he saw himself giving in, in spite of himself. _Snap._ And Aragorn, treating the human's wounds for the thousandth time…A smile nearly touched the Elf's lips as he remembered how Aragorn always seemed to be getting into scrapes, and Legolas always seemed to be the one patching him up.

No, Death could not hold him. Not when he had so much to live for. To live. Yes, he _wanted _to live!

_Snap._

The final cord had broken, the final chain had been shattered, and his heart gave a mighty soar. He was _free!_

With a joyful cry he leapt from the tunnel of darkness, that never-ending, ceaseless pit of doom. Death could not hold him, it had no power over him! He could be alive and well again.

"_Get back_," he hissed fiercely at the invisible demons which surrounded him, trying to pull him back into the darkness. _"_You shall not claim me! Get back, I tell you, minions of darkness!"

For the first time since he had fallen into that pit he felt he could move fully. He grasped the edge his prison and suddenly felt he could _lift _himself up. It took a great effort, and he gasped at the sudden pain throbbing over his entire body.

But the walls no longer crumbled into ash, the quicksand no longer sucked at his body, pulling him down that horrible maelstrom of despair.

He could see the light very clearly now, it shone brightly, as if beckoning to him. Much despair and doubt and utter hopelessness had Legolas poured into his mind. And indeed it was the demons of his mind that he fought, forcing them back, forcing qualities of the Light to shine through instead.

The great pain was spreading over his entire body, tearing him in half—darkness holding on at one end, light on the other. He felt as though he was being ripped apart, his insides being shredded and his limbs being torn one from another. But slowly he beat back the darkness.

It was no easy undertaking. Legolas had sunk far into despair, hopelessness and guilt, all the things the deaths of those with nothing to live for thrive upon. He realized now that he had allowed these things to consume him, to take over his mind and to erase any rationality from his mind. It would take an enormous amount of willpower to overcome those obstacles which had brought him here in the first place. He was free, but he still had to climb out.

"Aragorn," he rasped, feeling his strength wane, as he climbed, hand over hand, out of the dark and freakish prison. "Help me…"

His strength was nearly gone. His climb out of the abyss was growing slower and slower. He could barely reach one hand over the other. The ripping, tearing feeling was so strong it overwhelmed him. He cried out and thrashed against the wall, beating himself, trying to rid himself of that slashing, rupturing feeling. He could hardly hold on. Though he had rid himself of the binding chains, if he didn't get out soon he would lose his grip and fall back into the chasm for good…

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"Help me…"

Aragorn's heart leapt at the Legolas's words. A moment later however Legolas started thrashing wildly and crying out in a loud voice. Immediately Aragorn put a restraining arm on his forearms, worriedly looking down at the wildly flaying elf.

"Aragorn…"

"I'm here, Legolas," Aragorn cried, not taking his gaze from the pale, sweating face. "I'm here, mellon nin…"

His heart silently cried, though his face refused to show it.

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"_I'm here, mellon nin…"_

Visions flashed through Legolas's irrational, exhausted mind.

Aragorn.

Aragorn was there.

He could see him there, he could almost touch him. He was reaching his hand out towards the bedraggled elf, smiling.

With a great last effort, Legolas threw himself upwards, at the outstretched hand. He grasped it and pulled himself out of the dark abyss forever.

Suddenly, in a rush, despair and dread and guilt were all gone, replaced by an overwhelming joy at being _alive._

He could see Aragorn's worried face, his sharp elven ears could pick up all the nose around him. The light was no longer a blur, but a sharp, almost painful brightness.

He was _back_.

But he was also exhausted, having used every last ounce of his strength to fight his doom and ward off death and hopelessness.

He sat up with a wild and joyful cry, and then, with a sigh of relief and happiness, fell dizzily back onto his pillow, totally and utterly deprived of energy.

Then soft sleep claimed him, not dark, but light.

"I'm here," he heard himself whisper to Aragorn, to let him know he was alive, as the kindness of sleep floated over him and he relaxed, content, for now, to be Legolas Greenleaf, and happy that his best friend was there with him, watching over him.

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**shakes head**

**You all had better be glad it was around Easter that I wrote this. I was seriously considering killing him. But I was all happy because of Jesus's resurrection and whatnot, so here you go, Legolas is alive. **

**Please review. **

**Ta!**

**TRS**


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